Demands
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: Set about ten years in the future, Jordan's life has taken some unexpected turns. On a very bad day, an old friend returns. JHaley to start JW eventually
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part One

_Approximately eight years ago before…_

Haley's arrival at her door wasn't a total surprise. He'd gotten into the habit of checking up on her in person every so often since she'd come home to Boston. The phone rang almost every evening, his warm, slightly sardonic voice quiet in her ear, his mundane observations and sly jokes making her smile even when it was often the last thing she felt she could manage. A warm Wednesday evening visit was a bit surprising though, but he was always welcome in her life. After all, it had been his intervention that had provided the key to proving her innocence. And his support had done a lot to help her maintain her fragile emotions.

She shook her head slowly and grinned at him. "Who called you?"

He laughed and slid past her, brushing the top of her head with his lips. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you were just here three days ago and you usually seem to think I can make it five days without seeing your face."

"My handsome face," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that one. So, who called?"

"Lily," he copped to the question. "She was worried."

"And a little bit pissed off?"

He shrugged. "And a little bit pissed off. His leaving like that…."

Jordan turned away. "It's his life. He didn't owe… anyone here anything."

Haley studied the set of her shoulders. Woody Hoyt had backed Jordan a hundred percent in her declaration of her innocence and he'd celebrated with her morgue family when she came home. Haley still remembered Lily's rapturous comments about how _finally_ Jordan and Woody could get on track, be happy and on and on. Haley hadn't listened too much. He'd seen the way the Boston detective looked at Jordan and it had wrenched his heart because in helping her, Haley had found himself caring for her more than he maybe should have. Then, after backing her so long and so fervently, Hoyt had simply backed away. He'd made excuses about giving her time to grieve, about needing space himself, about them deserving a fresh start. Four months later – today – he'd appeared at the Morgue and spoken to Garret Macy.

"I – uh – I kind of hoped you could – maybe, you know…."

"Tell her?"

"Tell everyone," Woody had insisted, his nerves jangling.

Garret had glared at him. "Why are you doing this, Woody?"

It had taken the man a moment to reply. He'd stuck his hands in his pockets. "There's nothing for me here anymore."

"Nothing? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just what I said."

"What about-?"

"Dr. Macy. There's nothing here for me anymore. L.A. wants me. I'm ready for a change."

"So move to a new apartment building!"

"I can't. I can't – I can't stay in Boston. I can't be…." He bit his lip. "I hurt her too much. We – We – There's nothing left for – for us."

Another glare from Garret. "She loves you."

"Which is why I'm letting her go, Dr. Macy. I told you – I hurt her. Too much."

"What if she doesn't want you to let her go?"

He'd shrugged and walked out. Lily had found Garret furiously pacing in his office ten minutes later and she'd dragged the conversation out of him. Then she'd called Haley.

Haley'd booked a plane ticket. And now he was studying the back of a woman he'd grown to care for more and more as time had passed, a woman he'd felt a connection with the first time they'd met, a woman he'd watched struggle for her own stability despite Fate's every attempt to take it away. He didn't quite know if he loved her, but he wanted the chance to find out.

He saw, rather than heard, the first freshet of tears she couldn't hold in. Her back rounded slightly and her shoulders trembled. He had her in his arms before she could pretend it was her contacts. He pressed her closely, rubbing small circles into her back, comforting her as best he could. He didn't ask for words, and she didn't give him any. He simply let her rest against him until she calmed.

She lifted her tear streaked face to gaze up at him. His mouth quirked up into a brief, gentle smile as he stroked a thumb along her cheekbone, his fingers spreading to cup her face. She inclined her head into his touch and closed her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her, a fire smoldering in the depths of his dark irises. She leaned up, her neck arching, as she touched her mouth to his. He pulled back for a moment, gave her a questioning look that vanished with the small nod of her head.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed. He'd spent enough nights with her to navigate blindly, his tongue exploring her mouth in a leisurely fashion. Of course, he'd always spent them on the couch, slipping into her bed only when a nightmare brought her awake screaming or, more often, whimpering, and only staying long enough to see her safely back to sleep. There would be none of that tonight. Tonight there would be the touches and the kisses he'd dreamed of, the soft, fluttering cries of ecstasy and the gentle slur of mumbled conversations before sleep pulled them under. He would begin to learn the texture and taste of her skin, begin to know how her long, dark hair felt against his own flesh and begin to commit to memory all the scents that were uniquely hers. He thought of the lock he'd put on his heart all those years ago and he felt the tumblers begin to fall into place. In the back part of his mind, he'd been convinced he would never feel strongly about anyone ever again, that if he tried, the neglect and damp would prove to have rotted away his heart. He half-wondered if she could hear the creaking of that door opening just a little bit, but he also half-knew that she was still wandering along similar corridors in her own soul.

He put her down gently and slid next to her, his fingers working slowly at the buttons on her blouse, while hers tugged at his tie. They didn't speak, but let their touches and kisses communicate their mutual need. She gasped as his hands trailed down her flesh, stopping to cup her breasts, to stroke the stiff peaks there. He continued his exploration, eliciting a low moan from her as his fingers worked their way down her abdomen. Blindly, she reached up, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it off him, letting her hands map the contours of his body.

With an aching slowness, they finished undressing each other. Her body took his breath away. The long legs, the taut muscles, the pale skin flushed with desire all overwhelmed his self control. "Jordan," he gasped.

She reached between them, wrapping her hand around him, guiding him to her. "Now, Drew. Please."

"Are you sure?" He murmured.

In reply she arched up and kissed him deeply, their bodies touching at more points. Struggling for rationale thought, he grunted, "Protection?"

She scrabbled for the drawer in her nightstand, yanked it open and after a moment's blind searching, handed him a foil package.

When at last he sunk into her, he groaned in pleasure at the feel of her. She cried out softly as he started moving in her, clinging to him, reveling in his heat and solidity, feeling alive for the first time in months. He moved slowly at first, but the way she wrapped her legs around him encouraged him to speed up his pace. His mouth never seemed to lose contact with her body – her mouth, the sweet spot behind her ear, her collarbone, even as his fingers stroked her. He watched her with something suspiciously like love in his deep eyes as her head arched back into the pillow, her climax rippling through her muscles. The sight of her, the soft _ohgodohgodohgod _whimpers from her mouth, the spasms of her body around his brought him with her shortly after.

He collapsed on top of her, his elbows keeping some of his weight off her, but she didn't seem to mind anyway. For long moments the only sound was the harsh panting as they struggled to get their breath back. After a few minutes, Haley kissed her forehead, leaving her so he could do some clean up. He came back to find her on her side, staring into space, the shine of moisture on her cheeks. He slid under the sheets with her and gathered her to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"Crying – like this – after… after."

He stroked her hair. "Don't be. I understand."

"How can you?" Her voice bespoke the fragility of her heart as its tones begged him to give her something to hold onto.

"My wife and my… my family, remember?"

And she did. "Oh. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Jordan."

"I just feel – I don't know…."

"Like you've betrayed something?"

Miserably, she nodded.

"Look at me." She complied, raising her tear stained countenance to his. "You didn't. You told me he loved you." Haley didn't need to say Pollack's name. In some ways, his presence was almost more palpable than Hoyt's at times.

Another nod.

"And if he really did, he would've wanted you to go on with your life, be happy. It's not an easy thing to do – I know. Hell, you know it, too. You'll do it though, Jordan." He kissed her gently. "This was too soon. I'm sorry. I should have-"

"No! I needed to feel – anything again." She wiped away a tear. "I just – I don't know…."

"You know what was the worst part for me? The last time my wife and I… I had no idea it was the last time. I felt like I should have known, like I should have remembered all the details, like it should have meant something more than it did, like maybe if I'd done those things, she wouldn't have – have - yeah."

She nodded in understanding, caressing his cheek softly. So many ghosts between them. So much pain to be reconciled into scars and memories. She started to reply but found herself ambushed by sobs that came from deep within that would not be denied. Haley held her tightly, rocked her, petted her gently, letting her finally grieve for the man whose love had been hers and whom she had realized she loved too late. And for the man whose love perhaps never really had been hers.

END Part One


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part Two

Haley continued his weekly "check-ups" without pushing, without demanding anything from her. He watched her grieve and then begin to heal. He was with her the first time Pollack's name slipped , unthinking, from her lips, the first time she forgot to remember he was dead. He knew the shocked expression on her face, knew the way her heart was pounding and was there to tell her not to castigate herself for it. He listened to the fractured tale of what _was_ and the aching fiction of what _could have been_. He took her to a Red Sox game and watched her lose herself in the deceptive simplicity of the game. A homerun ball flew over their heads, leading to a scuffle a few rows back, and she turned and beamed up into his face, laughing. At dinner that night, he mentioned he was thinking of moving to Boston. "After all," he finished. "I can do my job almost anywhere."

She had looked at him steadily for a long moment. It hadn't been lost on him that she'd emptied her wineglass during the silent scrutiny. Finally, she nodded.

"I thought I'd do some apartment hunting this weekend."

"Why bother?"

He gave her a perplexed look. "I know I'm a workaholic, Jordan, but I don't actually live at my office." He chuckled.

She smiled back. "No. I mean, don't you already have somewhere?"

"Your place?"

Now she snorted lightly. "We're not fooling anyone." She took a deep breath. "Least of all ourselves."

He tilted his head at her. "I kind of thought we'd gone back to just friends. You know… after…."

"We had," she replied simply. "Things are different now, Drew. I'm ready."

He took her hand. "Are you sure?"

"No! Ask anyone who knows me. The only thing I'm ever _sure_ of is science." She smiled softly. "But I've learned that some things no one is ever _sure_ of. This is one of 'em."

"This?" He grinned. "This what?"

"You know," she told him, her voice low, her cheeks stained pink.

"Humor me."

She looked up into his dark, intent eyes. "Humor you?"

"Tell me, Jordan." His hand tightened on hers. "Tell me you love me as much as I love you."

She nodded eagerly, gladly allowing him to state her own feelings.

"No," he insisted. "Tell me."

Jordan swallowed. She spoke in a voice so quiet as to be nearly inaudible, as if the information were top-secret, which, for her, it may well have been. "I do love you, Drew."

He smiled broadly. "I love you, too, Jo, but I can't just move in with you." As her face fell, he held up a hand. "Believe it or not, I'm kind of old fashioned. I want a life with you, Jordan Cavanaugh, a life that starts with some very specific and time-honored promises, a life that includes _our_ last name on a lease, a life that is both scary as hell and blissful."

Her jaw had slowly unhinged during his little speech. She closed it enough to ask, "Are you saying-?"

"I'm saying I want to marry you. I don't need an answer right away and it's not an ultimatum of any kind, Jordan. I'll wait as long as you need me to." He squeezed her fingers. "But until then, I'll get my own place."

She gave him a soft, stunned smile. "So, um, while you're – um – waiting for me… does that mean… you know? I promise I don't cry every time and when I said I was ready, that was sort of part of what I meant." Her face colored deeply, the blush dipping all the way into the valley between her breasts.

He was laughing gently at her. "I'm not _that_ old-fashioned!"

That night, when he'd taken her to bed, there had been no tears after he made love to her, no recriminations, no ghosts whispering accusatory nonsense from the corners of either of their hearts. There had only been pleasure and connection and the beginning of a certainty that she would answer his question-statement sooner rather than later and that her answer would be the one he wanted to hear.

_Approximately six years before…_

Jordan glanced down at her watch again, certain at least half an hour had passed since the last check, only to find all of five minutes had ticked away. She looked down at the report she was supposed to be finishing. "The body is that of a thir_-_." She sighed. It had taken her the better part of an hour to get that part out. At this rate the relatively simple task of reporting on a motorcycle fatality could take the next year. _And that would be just a little too long, I think_.

She hadn't seen her husband… _soon-to-be-ex-husband_? she wondered… in nine weeks. It wasn't his fault or hers, although it was typical of the way they'd ended up. It had seemed one of them was always working. The saved – and the unsaveable – seemed to consume more of them than the living, including each other. Neither could pretend to be shocked at the turn of events, but their relationship – their marriage – had begun with greater promise, as though because they each had been so damaged in their pasts they could keep each other whole in their future. It simply hadn't turned out that way.

They had kept trying though. After a bare fourteen months of marriage neither of them was willing to walk away without a fight. Drew had moved out, back to the loft he'd bought before they got married and lived at Pearle Street. They'd still talked and spent time together. It was the last evening they'd been together that had Jordan on tenterhooks now.

She'd cooked for him. He'd enjoyed the meal as he always did when she had time to cook. He'd cleared the table, while she'd started the dishes. "It goes faster with two," he'd said when he'd come up behind her, pinning her body against the sink, and dipped his hands into the warm, soapy water to grasp hers, she couldn't help the gasp that had escaped her lips. Whatever problems they did have, sex wasn't one of them. He'd reached one hand up and, dripping water down her back, eliciting more gasps, nudged aside her hair. He'd brought his mouth down to the bare patch he'd created and had kissed her gently, slowly, his lips tickling her lightly. The kisses had trailed up a bit, leaving a trail of fire right to the sensitive flesh behind her ear. She'd felt her knees tremble as his tongue had darted out of his mouth to flick the back of her ear. She'd sighed his name as he'd moved his way along the cup of her ear and then down her throat, his mouth finding the pulse point there. He'd smiled at the way her heart hammered in her body, glad that he wasn't the only one experiencing that.

He'd reached up, cupped her breasts through her blouse with his still soapy, wet hands, provoking some loud squeals of protest that quickly became moans of pleasure as his fingers began to knead her flesh.

Wordlessly, she'd turned in his arms, her golden eyes dark with desire, her face flushed with the heat they'd been generating. She'd scooted over a bit and let him lift her to the countertop. After that some restraint inside them both broke loose and it was a scramble to get out of the necessary clothing. He was in her, possessing her body, taking what he wanted from her, offering her again his heart and soul, giving as much pleasure as he found. Her wild throated cries matched his own. Even as they finished shuddering in each other's arms, he was lifting her, keeping her legs straddled around his waist, and carrying her to bed.

Toward dawn, in between the rhythm of making love and drifting to sleep together, they woke enough to murmur sleepy promises to try again. His fingers had tangled in her hair, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Jordan, it's not the sex." He'd grinned lazily in response to her owlishly hurt look. "Not that the sex isn't a great incentive." He'd kissed her forehead. "It's because when I make to love to you, I remember what it's like to be connected to someone else, to someone I need and who, I hope, still needs me."

Jordan had smiled and snuggled up more closely to him. "Uh-hum. Yeah."

He'd laughed softly. "We'll talk about it when we're both awake."

That talk had never come though. The phone had rung less than an hour later. Haley was needed on a case, one he'd been working on for almost eighteen months. He'd tossed a few things in a bag, promised to call and said he didn't think he'd need to be gone more than a week or so.

That had been nine weeks ago. It turned out that the local law enforcement in Vermont had done an amazing job of gathering evidence and finding witnesses and, for the first time really, Haley had some solid leads as to the identity of this particular killer. As he had with Digger, he got more and more involved the closer the resolution seemed. Their conversations had been few and rushed. Jordan didn't resent that, not for the most part. In the end, Haley himself had saved the life of an eight year old boy while his agents arrested the killer. But now he was home and picking her up for dinner in…. Jordan sighed. In five fewer minutes than the last time she checked.

Lily stuck her head in Jordan's doorway. The grief counselor was a much appreciated distraction. She grinned at Jordan, knowing despite the M.E.'s best efforts to conceal it that she was frazzled. "What time's Drew picking you up?"

Jordan grinned a little. There were definite perks to having people who could read you so well. "Not soon enough." She shrugged. "Too soon?"

Lily nodded. "I know that feeling. Listen, I was going to run down to the corner and grab one of those green tea lattes they make. Want something?"

Jordan snorted. "Right. 'Cause I clearly need more caffeine right about now."

"Have what I'm having," her friend suggested with a light laugh.

That provoked a grimace. "Ugh. Those things are like drinking grass clippings."

Lily pretended to take offense. "And when – exactly – have you had grass clippings?"

"I haven't," Jordan conceded. "And now I don't ever need to try them." It was an old joke between them and Lily was glad to see it set Jordan at ease. Sighing dramatically, but smiling, Jordan stood up. "All right, all right. Let's go."

As they walked down the hall, Lily suggested, "Try one with honey in it."

"Oh, yum. Sticky grass clippings."

"Jordan." The grief counselor almost growled and then both women laughed.

Lily's little plan had worked, no matter what Jordan drank. By the time they got back to the morgue, she was relaxed enough to finish her report, change clothes and only check her watch every ten minutes.

Haley arrived on time, for once. Jordan smiled at the sight of him. Dark suit, white shirt open at the throat, tie discarded somewhere. The lines around his mouth seemed a little deeper in nine weeks, but his eyes lit up when he saw her. For a brief moment, he leaned against the doorframe and they simply regarded each other, happy to be in the other's presence again and yet, still, uneasy at what the night might promise. Both had important matters to confide and both squirmed inwardly at the paths their lives might take following their announcements.

They talked about work as he drove them through evening traffic to a little Brazilian place they both liked. Once inside they were seated at a small table in a secluded corner. Haley reached across the table and took his wife's hands. He stroked her fingers, watching the warmth flow into her cheeks and eyes. He squeezed her hands, ready to tell her what was on his mind just as the waitress arrived to take their drink orders. He smothered a sigh of irritation. Good service was always a plus. Well, almost always.

"Vodka tonic, please," he told her, his voice smooth.

Jordan glanced up. "Um – Ice tea, thanks."

Haley raised an eyebrow as the server moved off. "Ice tea?"

Her eyes met his and he felt her hands tremble slightly in his. She spoke with no preamble. "I'm pregnant."

She regarded Haley warily. They'd discussed children in an almost offhand, theoretical "when the time is right" way, Jordan, afraid her experiences had conditioned her to be a horrible mother; Haley, always haunted to some degree by the death of his son. But when Jordan had missed her period, when the home test had showed those two blue lines, when the blood test had confirmed it (as if the nausea didn't), she had known none of it mattered, at least not to her. She had loved the baby within her within the span of a single heart beat. Loved. Wanted. Needed. She'd realized the time is never right, not exactly. She'd spent far too many years of her life waiting for the time to be right. Right to have a mature relationship. Right to get married. Right to have a baby.

Drew stared back at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes scanning her up and down, his brain working furiously to determine if he'd missed any of the signs.

"Nine weeks." Her voice gave the two words weight.

Slowly, he nodded.

Blushing lightly now, every fiber vibrating with anxiety, she joked softly, "Guess you won't help me with the dishes anymore."

He chuckled. "Are you kidding?"

"I don't know," she told him. "Am I?"

He leaned across the table, cupping her face with his hands. "You know what this means?"

His mouth was so close to hers, she had to catch her breath. She shook her head.

"Our trial separation is _definitely_ over." He pressed his lips to hers, but pulled back when her response was lukewarm at best. "What?"

"Because of the baby?"

He leaned back, shaking his head. "No. That's what I wanted to tell you tonight." He grew serious. "Jordan, I don't think it's ever going to be easy with us, but I'd rather spend the rest of my life trying than live without you."

Her eyes warmed, sparkled in the light.

"And maybe after this one is born, I can help you with the dishes a couple more times." He grinned wickedly at her. "At least."

END Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part Three

_Present…_

Allie had been gone seven hours. Jordan had once thought she knew what it felt like when time stopped. She'd seen her murdered mother's body on the floor of her own home. She'd been buried alive and willingly gone into a bomb-shattered building to comfort a trapped man. She'd seen the man she loved more than she'd been able to admit lying on a gurney, being wheeled into a surgery that could have paralyzed him – or worse – and she'd sat in a hospital waiting room praying to a God she hadn't thought she needed. She'd weathered that same man's erratic behavior and, near the end, his rejection. None of it meant anything. She'd asked Haley how much longer until the kidnappers called again. He could have said three hours, three days or three minutes to never and it would have felt the same. The only thing proving to her that the seconds did indeed pass was the rhythm of his heart, thudding, while she rested her head on his chest.

She'd gone to pick Allie up from Kindergarten at twelve-thirty, only to find that she'd been picked up. Knowing Drew was stuck in a paper-pushing meeting, she'd been instantly alarmed. She'd managed to remain calm when they told her Garret Macy had taken Allie home with him. Bells had gone off in her head. Garret was in Tokyo, visiting Abby. Once upon a time, she would have gone off on them, lambasting them for their idiocy, threatening them with anything she could think of and calling the police, but her own experiences after Pollack's death had generally lowered her opinion of the Boston P.D. and her years of involvement with Haley had brought a new circumspection. He wasn't exactly a stranger to death threats. Which was why Allie was in a very expensive, supposedly secure private school. It had all been to no avail. She pushed aside the niggling thought that if she and Drew had managed to keep their marriage together, not juggle custody – no matter how amicably – this might not have happened. Still, she'd known that was a waste of time; they'd tried – it had ended. Enough said.

Without revealing her deepest fear, Jordan had managed to coax a description of "Garret Macy" from the teacher and found out what kind of car had spirited away her child. Just as she'd been walking back to her car, her cell had gone off. They'd called Drew and made their first set of demands. He had an hour to get to a specific downtown hotel and request a specific suite. He'd been instructed to have Jordan join him. He'd also been told if either of them let on anything about the situation, they'd get proof of the seriousness of the threat – proof in the form of one of Allie's fingers. They'd both made it in half an hour. The hotel clerk had given them knowing glances, smiling at their eagerness to be alone. Jordan could have cheerfully strangled the woman.

"Oh!" She'd said as they'd turned to head for the bank of elevators. "Mr. Haley? We found this for you." She'd held out an envelope.

Smiling as if everything was utterly normal, Drew had thanked her and taken the small packet. Jordan had to bite back a scream when she saw what was in it – Allie's long, dark braid, still tied just as she liked it, with matching bows at the top of the weave and the bottom.

Haley had gone white for a moment, but had regained his composure far more quickly than his ex. He'd questioned the clerk, who said it had been really weird. There'd been a scuffle in the lobby about an hour earlier. She'd left the front desk to use a private phone to call for house security. When she'd come back, the envelope had been there.

So now they stood in the hotel suite, facing each other across their worst nightmare. Haley held in his phone a cell phone that had been lying on the bed. It had rung about five minutes after they got off the elevator. Haley had held the phone so that Jordan could hear the distorted voice coming through the device. The instructions were specific, the consequences, horrifyingly repeated. They were to stay in the suite, turn off their respective cell phones, make no outgoing calls on the hotel phone and simply wait. They would call back in two hundred minutes. The time in between was a test; if Allie's parents could follow directions, the next call would tell Drew where to meet them.

Drew held her, stroked her back.

Quietly, she murmured, "Who-?"

"Shh." He looked down into her face as she raised her eyes to question him. His mouth dipped to her ear. "The room might be bugged."

She nodded, that thought having flashed across her mind, while her heart had hoped he wouldn't say it. His arms folded her against him as his fingers ran through the tangled silk of her hair. For a long time, she simply stood in the circle of his arms before shifting to pull him closer to her. As the minutes ticked by – two hundred minutes that seemed intent on making every last second count – fear seeped ever deeper in Jordan's brain; her body grew colder, even as she and Haley clung to each other, their grips tightening without volition from time to time. She laid her head against his shoulder as the tears she'd been choking back broke free in quiet streams.

She shook against him, unnerving him, breaking his resolve to hide his own desperation from her. Tears in his own eyes, he tilted her chin up, his fingers brushing already damp locks of dark hair from her face, his thumbs wiping away the moisture from her cheeks. When that failed, he acted without thought, leaning down to kiss her. Just a soft, gentle caress of her lips with his full ones. Just something to reassure her, to drive back the utter blackness of the situation, even if only for a bare moment or two. Just….

The light pressure deepened as neither sought an end to the intimate touch. His tongue teased her lips and she opened them, letting him taste and explore her mouth as she did the same. Gently, softly, still a kiss of little but comfort and familiarity. Then his hand caged her head, the fingers splayed against her skull, pressing her to him more closely, more insistently. She shifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck and the fire between them swept them up in its back draft.

They pulled apart, looking into the other's eyes, reading the face in front of each of them, pleading, seeking assurance and absolution. He drew the back of his hand down her face, sighing softly. As she closed her eyes and inclined her face into the cradle of his hand, she murmured his name. They were both lost at that moment.

What might have been hasty, desperation setting their pace, was not. Instead they fought the terror holding them tightly in its net with love, making love to each other with a gentle, sweet, thorough tenderness, an act as ardent and loving as any from their marriage. When she climaxed in his arms, sighing his name so softly, he watched her beautiful face, eyes closed, jaw clenched as spasms ripped through her and he felt the evidence of her pleasure to his own core. His own release came moments later, her name falling quietly from his lips this time.

They lay without talking for nearly a quarter of an hour, simply holding each other. Finally Haley reached for the inevitable pad of hotel paper sitting next to the phone. He wrote swiftly.

_We're both realists. We know this can't end well._

She read his words, her eyes darkening. She simply nodded in miserable agreement.

He wrote again. It didn't take long.

_I will always love you, Jordan_. _Hold on to that – and to this, to our love-making here._

Her brows knit down as she read his statement. She grabbed the pen and hastily scribbled her own words.

_What are you talking about?_

He closed his eyes for a moment as a ragged sigh escaped his lips. _You know_ the pen supplied as she now read as he wrote.

She shook her head.

_Jordan, I've figured out who it has to be, who has Allie._

_What? Who?_

Before he could write a response, the phone rang. He listened, mute, which was apparently how he'd been told to respond. He'd also been warned not to let Jordan listen in as she had last time. He could explain it when the call ended and, the caller promised, that would be soon. Less than thirty seconds later, Haley snapped the phone shut and took a deep breath. "We need to get dressed," was all he said.

"What did they say?"

"Jordan…." His voice faltered. "Please."

"Tell me what they said!" Her tone rang with that slight edge of hysteria that she reserved for the infrequent crises in Allie's life – tonsillitis, unexplainable fevers, Technicolor, projectile vomiting after she ate a box of crayons.

He ran his hand over the crown of her head. "I will. All of it. We need to get dressed first though."

His promise soothed her enough and she assented. When they were both clothed again, the moments of love and passion already seeming like a dream, he guided her out of the suite. As they walked to the elevators, he relayed the contents of the phone call. In plainest terms someone – an old enemy – had taken their daughter. The demand was far greater than any sum of money. The demand was blood and a pound of flesh. And Haley was planning on giving it to them.

"You can't do this!" Jordan's voice shook they stepped into the elevator car, which they had, mercifully, to themselves.

Drew took her by the shoulders, staring into her red-rimmed eyes. "I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do. You have to. You. Have. To." She pounded on his chest with balled fists.

He caught her hands and stilled them, pulling her tightly to him. One hand held her closely while the other smoothed her hair. He murmured soothing syllables. When she calmed enough to listen again, he spoke. "Jordan, I have to do this. It's the only way. This is my fault."

"We don't know that," she muttered.

He kissed the top of her head. "Honey, we do know that."

"I've pissed a few people off, you know."

He pulled away and looked down at her. "You want to argue about who has more enemies?" The disbelief in his voice angered her.

She wrenched free. "No! Yes! God, I don't know, Drew. I just – I…." She swallowed helplessly. She laid her head against his chest once more. "I'm sorry. This is – It's – God…."

"Yeah, it is." He pulled away and searched her face again. "But I'm going to fix it."

"Drew…."

"Don't, Jo. Don't." He took her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. Her eyes fluttered shut. He kissed her softly. Pulling away, he rested his forehead on hers. "God, why couldn't we make everything work like this always has?"

She smiled wryly.

He brushed her cheeks again, wiping at the tears falling from her eyes. "We did one really great thing together, Jo."

She nodded. "Allie."

"Allie. She's been worth everything. All of it."

The car came to a soft stop as it reached the lobby, the doors opening, disgorging its anxiety-ridden passengers. Looking straight ahead, Haley grasped Jordan's hand in his own as he strode through the lobby toward the hotel's entrance. He slowed only when they reached the sidewalk, scanning the street in front of them.

He turned to her and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes stormed with a violent welter of emotions. Comprehension dawned on Jordan too late as he kissed her quickly and then pulled away. In a few strides he was pulling open the door of a nondescript sedan. Even as Jordan called his name, he slammed the door. The car pulled away smoothly. Too stunned to do more than gape at the car's receding tail lights, she didn't even take notice of the driver or the plate number. She was reaching for her cell phone, switching into an automatic mode, when her hand froze.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Jordan turned and Allie was sprinting down the sidewalk toward her.

END Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part Four

Allie sat on a couch in the hotel's lobby, sipping a hot chocolate, Lily with her, holding her hand and smoothing her hair repeatedly. Jordan stood a few feet away, out of the child's hearing, glaring at the police detective in front of her. "I won't talk to you about this," the M.E. hissed.

Lu Simmons smothered a sigh of abiding irritation. "Look, Jordan-"

"Dr. Cavanaugh-Haley," came the icy correction.

Another sigh. "Dr. Haley… Cavanaugh-Haley… your daughter was kidnapped. You have to talk to me."

"No," Jordan shook her head. "I don't. Get someone else down here."

"Or what?" Simmons raised her voice enough to draw the attention of a passing hotel employee. Lowering her eyes and her voice, she continued, "This isn't the time to make things personal. Your ex-husband is out there."

"It's _exactly_ the time to make things personal. I don't trust you."

Lu rolled her eyes skyward.

"And don't tell me Drew is out there. I _know_ that."

"And you're willing to leave him out there just to – to what? Spite me?"

Jordan smiled darkly. "Hardly, Detective Simmons. Do you honestly think I need the Boston Police Department's help to find him? He does work for the FBI."

"They don't have jurisdiction," Lu retorted.

"You think _I_ couldn't find him faster than you?"

"Oh, good Lord. You know you have a really inflated opinion of your own crime solving skills."

The M.E. arched a knowing brow. "Really? Maybe I just have an incredibly low opinion of _yours_."

"You called us!"

Jordan shook her head. "No. The hotel manager called you. I argued."

"You lost." Simmons narrowed her eyes. "I could charge you with obstruction, you know."

That earned the blonde a snort. "Obstructing what?"

"The investigation into your daughter's kidnapping and your ex-husband's disappearance."

Jordan feigned ignorance. "Allie wasn't kidnapped. There was a mix up at her school."

"What the hell kind of game are you playing? The staff here _heard_ her say-"

"The staff heard a scared five year old who thought Mommy had forgotten to come get her. Children overreact sometimes, Detective." Jordan's voice was clipped, assured. "Either get another detective down here or that will be the official version."

"Will I do?" The voice came from over Jordan's shoulder.

She whirled and gasped. "Woody!" Jordan backed away, causing Lu to step hastily out of the way, as easily forgotten as she'd been dismissed after Pollack's death.

The female detective threw her hands up in surrender and muttered, "Just like old times."

Woody studied Jordan intently. He knew the last thing he should feel for the woman in front of him was desire, that the regret pulsing in his blood should have been the furthest thing from his mind, but he couldn't help it. Walking away from her had been the biggest mistake of his life. Bitterness knifed through him, scalding and sour; apparently, it hadn't been the biggest mistake of her life. His eyes darted to the little girl sitting with Lily. "Cavanaugh-Haley, huh? You married the FBI guy?"

Throat too constricted to speak, Jordan nodded.

"You want to tell _me_ what happened today?" He took out a notebook.

She swallowed and then began in a voice hoarse with emotion. "Someone – Someone took Allie. I went to pick her up at school-"

"Where does she go to school?"

Jordan told him.

Woody whistled softly. "Nice. Profiling pays well, I guess."

"More like it means a fair number of criminals who have no problem attacking your family." She all but spat the reply at him.

His face softened. "Sorry. That was – callous." His gaze darted back to Allie for a moment. "Were there ever any – any threats?"

She nodded. "That's why she was there. It was supposed to be safe."

He looked down at his shoes, not knowing what to say to her, wanting to comfort her, but knowing he couldn't for so many reasons. He cleared his throat. "So someone took her. Any idea who?"

"The school told me Garret picked her up." She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. She spoke through the pain in her temples. "Garret's in Hong Kong, visiting Abby."

"Why didn't you call the police right away?"

She let her hand fall back to her side and glared at him.

"Stupid question."

She shrugged. "Drew called me. They'd called him, told him we both had an hour to get here."

"And it was all set up here?"

"Yeah." She told him the story of their arrival and related the gist of the first phone call.

He wrote quickly, looking up at her as she finished with a sigh. She'd left out something, he was certain. He thought about pressing her, but watched her hug her arms around herself and suddenly knew what she'd left unspoken. "So – uh – they called back?"

"Un huh. When they said they would. Drew wouldn't let me hear that one. All he said was we had to get dres- to get going. We came down here and out to the sidewalk."

"And he got into a car?"

"I was too shocked to do anything, Woody." Tears filled her eyes.

"It's okay, Jo." The old, familiar name slipped easily from his lips, but he saw her stiffen in response. "Sorry," he murmured. "Don't – Don't be too harsh on yourself. You were in shock."

"I'm trained to – to observe!"

"It's kind of hard to do that when you're the one in the crisis." He gave her a moment. "Then you heard Allie?"

She averred that she had. "We came in here. The receptionist heard her talking and must have called the manager."

"And here we are."

"And here you are."

"You're not wild about BPD being involved in this, are you?"

She gave him a withering look. "Can you blame me?"

"No. I can't." He sighed. "Do you have any idea who this could be?"

She shook her head. "Wait. Drew said something. He said he thought he knew who it was."

"That's all?"

"I – I – That's when the second call came and then – I was - he distracted me. He did it on purpose."

Woody eyed her speculatively. "Why would he do that?"

She groaned lowly. "He knew I'd go after – I'd – I…."

"You'd go after him."

She dipped her chin in silent acknowledgement. "Woody, I have to – to do something. I can't – I can't – He's out there."

"I know." He glanced again at Jordan' daughter. "Can I talk to her? She might know something without knowing what it means."

Jordan studied her only child for a moment before agreeing.

Woody crossed the space between them and knelt in front of the girl. Jordan followed and watched him closely. "Hi," he said. "I'm Woody; I'm a – a friend of your mom's. You're Allie, right?"

Solemnly, the dark-headed child nodded.

"I hear you had a tough morning?"

Another nod. "I was scared," she told him in a whisper.

"I bet. I bet you were really brave at the same time though," Woody coaxed, his Irish charm twinkling in his eyes.

Allie shrugged, a gesture that rendered her into a miniature of her mother. "I guess."

"Can you be really brave again?"

The child looked up at Jordan, dark eyes pooled in fear and confusion. Jordan moved to replace Lily, who got up graciously, allowing Jordan to sit and pull her daughter close. "It's okay, Allie. You can do it."

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll try."

Woody smiled at her, revealing his dimples. Though both Jordan and Lily knew his easy demeanor was a thorough act, Allie bought it. "Great. Thanks. Can you tell me what happened when you were waiting at school?"

Allie gulped, twisting her little hands against each other. "I was waiting. It was Mommy's day to come get me, so I was looking for her car. Then Miss Rebecca came over-"

"Miss who?" Jordan's voice was sharp, telltale worry in her tone and on her face.

Allie turned and looked at her mother. "Miss Rebecca. Mrs. Nancy's aide."

"I thought Mrs. Nancy's aide was Miss Caroline."

The little girl nodded. "She is. The reg'lar one. She got hurt though."

"When?"

Woody and Lily exchanged glances. Heads were so going to roll at Allie's posh school.

"Umm… a couple weeks ago. Mrs. Nancy said she'd come back when her leg got better."

Woody shot Jordan a look and began to beckon to a uniformed officer. When the woman approached, Woody told her to call the school – Jordan rattled off the number easily – and find out about "Miss Rebecca." Sternly, Woody reminded her, "Full name. Address. _All_ contact numbers." He looked back to the child. "So – um – what happened with Miss Rebecca?"

"She – uh – She came over to me. And said Dr. Macy was here for me." The girl looked up at her mother. "I tried to tell her. I tried, Mommy!"

"I know you did, honey."

Allie looked back at Woody. "Uncle Garret's visiting Abby. I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. She just took my hand and – and made me go with her." The adults could all see the tears start in the girl's eyes. She trembled fiercely in Jordan's embrace. Jordan murmured sweet nonsense and rubbed the child's back softly. "I started getting scared then. I thought about what Daddy and Mommy always told me. If someone ever tried to steal me, I should yell and scream."

"Did you?" Woody's voice was gentle.

A miserable head shake was the response. "Something happened. Something over in the big kids' parking lot. I don't what, but it was loud and – and everyone looked away."

Jordan smothered her gasp. Looking over Allie's head, she mouthed to Woody, "A diversion. Like here."

He nodded at her. "Can you tell me what happened then?"

The little girl shuddered and her mother held her even more tightly. "Miss – Miss Rebecca came up to a car. She opened the back door and told me to get in." Tears fells down her face and the adults let her gather herself. "I didn't want to. I – I screamed then and kicked. I think I kicked her. She kind of fell backward."

Jordan could not help but smile. "Good girl," she murmured in her child's ear.

"There was a man though. In the back of the car." Involuntarily, the adults stiffened, dreading the next words on instinct more than any evidence. "He put his hand over my mouth. I kept kicking. I tried to bite his hand. It tasted funny. And it smelled like – like when Mommy or Daddy stops at the gas station."

Woody's ears pricked up, as did Jordan's. He made a few hasty notes, before prompting the little girl to continue.

"I was still trying to get away. I scratched his arm."

Behind her, Jordan's face lit up. "Hard, sweetie?" She kept her voice under control. The last thing she really wanted to do was have to take evidence from her own child – or more likely, watch while Nigel or Bug did it – but the rational part of her mind knew that this was exactly the sort of thing they needed, if Allie'd managed to break the skin.

Allie nodded. "He said a bad word and I could see he was bleeding." Above her head, Allie's mom actually smiled.

Woody flicked up his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Jordan's glee. He was feeling the same way. "Do you know where you went?"

Allie shook her head. "No. After I scratched him, the man put something over my eyes. And – And he cut off my braid!"

Woody could barely keep the wry smile off his face. Clearly, the loss of her dark, glossy, long hair was a bigger irritation to the child than much of whatever else had gone on. It seemed _that_ temerity had just been too much. Her stubbornness was clearly the match of Jordan's. "That was bad of him!"

"I know!" The girl shook her head with as much gravity as any adult might. Even Jordan was nearly smiling.

"Allie?"

The child looked up at her mother. "Do you know how long you were in the car?"

The girl shrugged. "Not really. It sort of seemed like about as long as it takes to get home."

"Mommy's house or Daddy's?"

Allie pointed up at her mother. "And I was kind of getting hungry."

"How hungry?"

"A little bit. Kind of like when we go straight home and not like when we take Dianna and Kasey home."

Now Woody was looking confused.

Jordan spoke quietly. "Allie always has a snack when she gets home. Sometimes we carpool and she's usually pretty hungry on those days."

He nodded. "And the days you go straight home, she's not as hungry."

A nod.

"How long does it take? To go straight home?"

"About half an hour."

The detective wrote that information next to Allie's observation about the way the man in the back of the car had smelled.

"Allie, sweetie, can you tell Woody anything about the place you stopped?"

"I don't know." Her voice was beginning to tire and she whined slightly.

"You're doing great, Allie," Woody told her. "I know it's not easy, but it could help me find the people who stole you."

"Okay," she spoke softly and then looked up again at her mother. "Can I have some hot chocolate?"

Lily answered by hurrying off in search of some. It took just a few minutes; the hotel staff was eager to help the little girl. Allie took a few sips of the cocoa and then spoke anew. "We stopped and the man made me get out. He took me somewhere and made me sit down on the floor."

"On the floor?"

She nodded. "It was cold and hard. And it smelled bad."

"Like the gas station?" Jordan asked.

"No. Like when Grandpa takes me fishing." Her nose wrinkled. Allie might love Max and spending time with him, but the end results of their fishing trips were not high on her list of favorite things."

"Could you hear anything, Allie?" Woody sounded excited.

"Like what?"

"Cars? Boats?"

"Birds, sweetie? Could you hear any birds?" To Woody, Jordan mouthed _she loves birds_.

"Oh! Un-huh. I could hear gulls and some pigeons."

Woody motioned over another uniformed officer and told him to call Nigel Townsend at the Morgue. "Give him these parameters: some place close to the water, probably where a lot of fishing or processing is done. About thirty minutes from the Vaucluse School." He stopped. "Allie, when you came back… do you think it took the same time to get here?"

She shook her head. "No. Way shorter."

He nodded. "And less than thirty minutes to get back to the area near this hotel."

The uni nodded.

Allie sipped at her drink a bit more before Woody went on. He knew the girl was close to being done in. "Do you know who brought you back, Allie?"

"Miss Rebecca."

He could almost hear Jordan growl. They'd better to get to the devious teacher's aide before Jordan did, that was for certain.

"Woody, I think that's enough for now."

"Okay." He nodded for emphasis. "We've got a lot to work with." He sighed. "I think – God, Jordan, I'm sorry – but if she really scratched that guy… and her clothes."

"I know," she replied. "I know. Can Lily take her to the Morgue? She's comfortable there, knows Bug and Nigel. They'd take care of her."

His eyebrows rose. "Aren't you…?"

Her jaw clenched. "Her father is out there somewhere. I can't just sit and – and …."

"Okay." He knew well the futility of arguing with her.

Although it cost Jordan more than she would ever admit to let Allie go, even with Lily, she doubted she would do much but get in the way at the Morgue. She knew, too, that soon her fears would communicate themselves to the little girl. Right now, Allie was confused and angry more than anything. Jordan knew that the emotions were only going to get more complex from here on out.

After Woody had bundled the child and Lily into a squad car, giving the officer driving a menacing growl as he warned the man to protect those two with his life, the detective turned toward Jordan. "You sure you can do this?"

She shook her head. "But I have to." For a moment their eyes locked and it was like old times – before the ring, before the shooting, before Pollack or Lu… before they were little more than friends who'd tried being enemies and lovers and finding neither worked too well. "Where are we starting?"

END Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part Five

The Boston cops had caught up with Rebecca Gainsey before she could flee. Rather than have her brought to the precinct, Woody and Jordan had gone to her apartment, hoping to save time. The woman had been uncooperative however. She actually spit at Jordan, who would have happily backhanded the woman into next October if Woody hadn't been around. Of course, Woody might have looked the other way, given the circumstances.

Only as Woody gave in and had the arresting officer take her out, did she say anything remotely helpful. "I hope he burns in Hell!" She glared at Jordan. "He had no right to have a life. Not after what he did to my…!" She bit her own tongue hard enough to draw blood, her face going pale at the near-revelation she'd provided.

Woody watched her go, while Jordan stared out the tiny window in the sitting room. The place was so obviously a temporary stop. Such hatred grieved her, even though she knew she'd once borne the same emotion toward her mother's killer. "That wasn't too helpful," Woody observed. "We'll get CSU – or would you rather have Nigel down here? Anyway, we'll get this place processed. There might be something."

Absently, Jordan nodded. Slowly, she took out her cell phone.

"Jordan? Jo?"

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"What're you doing?"

"Something she said."

"She didn't really say anything we – you – Haley – whatever – hadn't already guessed – someone who hated him."

"I know."

"Then what?"

Jordan turned, her hand still wrapped tightly around the phone. "Something the people who took Allie said – or did, really. It didn't seem strange at the time because… well, because 'strange' had pretty much lost all meaning."

Woody's brow creased and he scrutinized her intently. "Come on, Jordan. What're you thinking?"

"They gave us two hundred minutes, Woody. Two hundred. Why not three hours? Or four? Why two hundred?"

He nodded appreciatively. "It means something."

"It's all I – all we have. I'm calling Drew's assistant." Woody made his own call to CSU and then began a cautious preliminary exam of the studio apartment. He listened to every word of Jordan's call though, gleaning more details than he wanted to know about her personal life. Not that she said anything specific. No, it was the way she talked to the assistant, Polly, the little things she said. In the middle of the chaos and crime, Woody realized he'd never felt so isolated, so alone. He'd once told her to move on with her life and though they'd tried to pick up the frayed threads of their relationship after that morning, they'd failed. And so she had moved on with her life.

"Polly," Jordan was saying. "Try 'Allielieua' as the password." Silence. "Yeah, I know, but try it. It's – It's his nickname for her."

Woody's heart clenched. He watched Jordan out of the corner of his eye. Her lower lip would be swollen and bloody before long, the way she was biting down on it. He also though she might break the back of the flimsy chair she clung to for support. But her face was blank, calm almost. Only her body language gave her away.

"Right," she said. "Look for a sentence involving two hundred. I'm guessing years." She covered the phone slightly and glanced over at Woody. "They gave us two hundred minutes for a reason, right?"

He nodded.

After a moment, Jordan smiled. "Great, Polly. Give me those names." She motioned for Woody's notebook and a pen. Scribbling hastily, she got down the names the woman gave her. "Thanks, Pol. Get those names to Mike Davis, will you? Have him call me if he gets anything."

Woody was reaching what she'd scrawled. Six names in all. He whistled lowly. "Geez, these guys all got two hundred _year_ sentences?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "Drew's good at what he does. And what he does is pretty ugly sometimes – most of the time."

The detective nodded.

"I'm going to call Nigel with these names."

Woody indicated he'd get BPD on them, too.

XXXXX

It was – unsurprisingly – Nigel who made the connection. Haley had put a man named Stephen Blaine away nearly two decades before, close to the beginning of his career. Blaine's crimes had bee so horrific that even the veteran police detectives called to testify could barely choke their way through it. The judge had had to clear the courtroom after several observers literally got ill. Jordan knew the case by name only; Haley wouldn't talk about it except to say the man was one of the sickest he'd ever chased and that, for anyone who did to children what he did, two hundred years was not long enough, that Haley regretted the fact they couldn't keep the bastard alive to serve the entire term in actuality.

Blaine had died in prison. Men with his predilections don't do well in the general population of a maximum facility. He'd left behind a wife who spent the rest of her miserable life proclaiming his innocence and even suing the state that incarcerated him, saying they hadn't done anything to protect him. He'd also left behind three children. Two sons and a daughter. They'd grown up with memories of a man who cosseted them, fulfilled their every whim and never had a harsh word for them. They'd grown up with a woman both embittered and blind. They'd been raised and had come to maturity in a venomous stew of sour hatred, liberally salted with a desire for vengeance.

The daughter had been married three times before she was thirty, the last time to a man named Phillip Gainsey. She'd worked a series of meaningless jobs, always above the law, but nothing that would bring her any attention. Most of her jobs had brought in close contact with young children. Her last job brought her to the Vaucluse School.

One of the sons had been in and out of prison, mostly for small time offenses. He specialized in car theft, chopping up his prizes for parts until the cops caught up to him again.

The other son had started on a fishing trawler when he was seventeen years old. He'd worked his way up, married a fleet owner's daughter. His wife's father owned several warehouses by the docks as well and ran one of the fueling stations. Jeff Blaine had taken over daily operations when his father-in-law retired a few months back.

In the end, it took less than two hours for the pieces to fall into place, less than two hours before Woody had the siren screaming as he vented his road rage on the hapless motorists in his path. Next to him, Jordan's face bore no expression whatsoever. Only her eyes were animated.

And what he saw in them scared the hell out of Woody.

The younger son, Kevin, came out when Woody called through the bullhorn that the building was surrounded. He'd had more than enough experience with the justice system to risk becoming part of a hostage situation. His hands had been high in the air and tears had streamed down his whiskered cheeks. He was screaming, begging for his life, yelling that his brother was insane, had lost his mind, they all had when a gunshot rang through the air.

The man bucked, his spine arching in on itself. Even as he dropped to the ground, he lowered his gaze to stare at the blood spreading, staining his t-shirt and pattering to the ground like some perverse rain from the cloudless sky. Heedless of Woody's own yelling, Jordan dashed from behind the relative safety of his car to take a look at the injured man.

She knelt next to him, prying his hands from his belly. "Let me look at it."

He whimpered, his eyes focusing briefly. "You- You're his wife."

"And the mother of the little girl you took."

"You're going to kill me."

She shook her head. "No. That wound will do it for me if you don't let me take a look."

"Why?"

Woody had gotten close enough to hear the exchange.

"Because I want you to live and stand trial for what you did." Her voice carried no heat though.

Woody remembered this was one of the things he'd always loved so much about her, even when he hadn't known it. The world had never been black and white for her, but so many shades of grey. He sometimes wondered if she saw something of herself, a sort of "there-but-for-the-grace-of-God" in every one who came across her path, victim or perpetrator.

Either convinced or simply losing strength, the man finally let her look at the wound. He didn't seem to notice the sucked in breath or the look in Jordan's eyes. She turned to Woody and gave her head a brief shake. She took a deep, shaky breath. "I can't do-"

Another gunshot broke the air around them.

And then Jordan was scrambling to her feet, sprinting toward the warehouse's small side door with Woody in hot pursuit, screaming at her to stop. Jordan screamed her ex-husband's name as she all but tore the door off its hinges and plunged into the dim interior. Her eyes needed time to adjust to the lack of light and that was the only thing which stopped her.

Behind her, Woody gulped in deep breaths, scanning the area as he did so. He saw a door opposite them flung open. He radioed to his men that the suspect had fled from the other door. His radio crackled to life, one of the men responding that they had Jeff Blaine in custody. Woody breathed a winded "Thank God." He looked at Jordan. "They have him. Jordan? Did you hear me? Jo?"

She walked away from him, toward a bundle in the nearest corner.

Woody wanted to stop her, to gather her into his arms and hold the horror at bay, but he couldn't. He still knew her too well. He knew whatever she found in that corner, she needed to find it. As hard as it would be, things concealed from her would be worse. So he simply trailed her.

She crouched next to the form. One trembling hand reached toward his crown of dark hair. She squeaked as he opened one eye. "Oh, God! Drew!"

He smiled – or gave his best approximation of it. He knew Blaine had shattered several bones in his face, as well as knocking out a number of teeth.

She skimmed her fingers through his hair, trying to assess the damage. If she could assess the damage then there was a chance. Right? If she could find things that could be fixed…. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Hey," he murmured, his tongue thick, his voice clotted with pain. "Allie?"

Jordan fumbled for his hand and took it gently. "She's fine. With Lily." She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. "You knew. You knew who it was."

"Guessed."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'd… have… come… looking."

She snorted, the sound quickly threatening to become an unruly sob. "I did that anyway."

"Took longer. Didn't get… caught by… madman." His fingers spasmed in hers. He gave her that ruined smile again and she knew her heart was breaking into millions of pieces. "Love you. Always."

Choking on the tears she couldn't deny, she replied, "I love you, too, Drew."

"Not as… much."

"What?"

His fingers twitched again. "As someone… else. You. Love. Always."

She shook her head.

"'Sokay, Jor." Another twitch, another attempt at a smile. "Had more… than… thought… possible."

Unable to speak any longer, she leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss against his bloody forehead. "Rest, Drew. Just rest."

"Love Allie. Tell her."

"Every day," she whispered in his ear.

How long she stayed like that she couldn't have said, but it seemed like a lifetime even after his hand went limp in her grasp. Finally she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and heard – dimly, as if distorted by great time and distance – Woody's voice. "Come on, Jordan. You need – You shouldn't…." He couldn't find the right words so he simply did what he'd wanted to early: he wrapped her into his arms and held her as she sobbed.

END Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing to stage a coup.

FEEDBACK: Welcomed and appreciated

A/N: One down…uh… I've actually lost track of how many stories I'm working on. But I am working on them, I promise!

DEMANDS: Part Six

It took Woody two weeks to have the courage to show up at the morgue, so intense was the welter of emotions roiling within him. He'd attended Haley's funeral, watching from a distance, knowing he wasn't a part of her Jordan's life any longer, no matter what had occurred the day the FBI profiler had died. Now he slunk into the building he'd once found at least one excuse a day to visit. He ran into Lily.

She gave him a genuine smile. He glanced over his shoulder, thinking perhaps someone was behind him. She chuckled softly. "Hi, Woody."

"Hey, Lily. How're you doing?"

She lifted one shoulder and made a non-committal noise. "Good, I guess. You?"

"Same." He found it hard to meet her eyes.

"You didn't come to here to trade small talk, did you?"

Woody shook his head. "I wanted to check on – on them."

"They're okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lily replied. "Allie's… it's hard for a kid her age to understand it all, but she's got a mom who knows a little something about this sort of thing."

"Unfortunately."

Lily nodded.

"Jordan's… okay?"

"She says she is."

"But…?"

The grief counselor smiled gently. "She's Jordan."

Woody nodded soberly. "She thinks she could have done more, knows she could have saved him if only she'd put it together faster…?"

"Yeah. Pretty typical Jordan." The woman moved closer to him, put a hand on his arm and lowered her voice. "It's harder for her than she'll admit, Woody. They were divorced, but still really – really connected. I don't think she knows what she's 'supposed' to feel."

His eyes went wide. "She divorced him?"

"You didn't know?"

He shook his head rapidly.

"It was mutual. They – They gave it… Woody, you should talk to Jordan about this stuff."

"I doubt she'd like to see me." He ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"I think she would," Lily confided. "More than either of you know, maybe."

"Lily-"

"She loved Haley. He was great for her." She shrugged. "And even if she won't admit it – yet – deep down, she never got over you. And Haley never got over his wife."

"They what – settled for each other?" His voice was bitter.

"No, I wouldn't say that. They recognized something in each other and they gambled that the things they shared would be enough."

Slowly, Woody nodded.

"She's in her office."

Woody watched Lily go as she walked down the hall toward Garret's office. Watching her leave was easier than moving his own feet in the direction he wanted to go, but feared to. After a deep breath, he turned and walked toward _her_ door. He hesitated before knocking, but was rewarded by her voice – tired and strained – calling out "Come in."

She looked up as he shut the door behind him. A hesitant, tiny smile curved her lips. "Woody. Hi."

"Hey." He scuffed a foot on the carpet as a flush spread up his neck and into his cheeks. He didn't know what to say; he shouldn't be here. "I – uh – um – How's Allie?"

Jordan shrugged. "She's…. confused. Some bad dreams." She licked her lips and swallowed. "She's angry sometimes, misses Drew, wants to know when she'll see him again."

He nodded. "How are you?"

"Coping." She gave him a rueful grin. "I have a whole new appreciation for what my dad went through. And I'm not being accused of being an unfit parent or of murdering Drew."

"Is Max helping?"

She nodded. "He thinks Allie hung the sun and the moon. He's been amazing. It's – It's weird to say it, but I think it's bringing us closer. He listens to Allie, talks with her." She shrugged again. "A lot of things he couldn't – or wouldn't – do with me."

"That's – That's good."

"Yeah." She looked down at her desk for a moment, the silence hanging heavy and awkward between them. "Can I do something for you? I mean… I haven't caught any of your cases, so…?"

"I just wanted to – to check on you. And Allie."

"Thanks. She'll like that." Jordan smiled. "She liked you."

"She did?"

"Yeah. Oh, wait." She opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "She drew this for you and said to give it to you the next time I worked with you." She handed him the paper.

Woody looked down and felt his throat close with emotion. She'd drawn the scene from the hotel and added the words "Thank you" to her artwork. He looked up. "Tell her – Tell her it's great. I'll put it in my office."

"She may want to check on that."

He smiled. "Any time."

XXXXX

Woody sighed from his diaphragm, hating paperwork with a fierce passion. Outside it was dark. He should be… home. Eating. Watching the Sox. Or out with friends. He snorted at that thought. If he'd imagined coming back to Boston would be easy, that he'd be welcomed with open arms…. Everyone he knew seemed to have moved on, literally and figuratively.

Everyone except Lu. And that wasn't making things easy. This was her turf now. He was the interloper. A few of her colleagues – their colleagues, really – resented him, thinking he'd gotten a position that should have gone to her. That didn't bother him all that much; he knew he deserved the job he held, that he had a good clearance record and that he had more experience than she did. Still, it would be nice if he could come to work and not feel like he was the big bully who'd stolen the littler kids' candy bars and lunch money.

"Working late?"

He looked up. The subject of his musing stood in his doorway, bathed in the soft light from his desk lamp, the corridor behind her dim. He couldn't read her face, but her tone was conciliatory enough. He gave her a tired smile. "Paperwork."

She gave a short laugh. "I think it's actually worse when you clear a case sometimes."

"Tell me about it." He leaned back. "What's keeping you here?"

She shrugged. "I – um – I…." Her eyes went to the framed picture hanging on one wall. "Cute. Up and coming artist?"

Woody glanced over and smiled. "Allie Haley drew it for me."

The elicited a sigh from her and another short laugh, this one harsher. "That's kind of why I stopped by."

"You want Allie Haley to draw you a picture?" The words rang false even as he said them and the charm attempting to dance in his blue eyes tripped and failed to provoke even the slightest grin from her.

"I – I…," she sighed again before marshalling herself. "That day. You had no right to do what you did. You or – or Jordan Cavanaugh. Cavanaugh-Haley. Whatever the hell she's calling yourself. No right, Woody!" Now her eyes blazed with the anger she'd been bottling since that afternoon.

"I – She – What mattered was Allie. And finding Haley alive if possible. Knowing who the victims were, the Captain had already sent me down there before Jordan pitched her fit; he didn't want the Bureau to complain about how things had been handled, figured two experienced heads were better than one. My timing was just – could have been better."

"You let her get away with her – her blackmail!"

He inclined his head. "That's one way to look at it."

"There's another?"

"Lu, don't you think Jordan's mistrust of this department – this entire institution – was pretty much earned? Officers – later top brass around here – implicated in her mother's death. Those same officers helping to try to frame Max, which almost cost him his daughter. Malden… well, you weren't here then, but, trust me, it was bad. The things – The way I was acting for a while. Might not have a lot to do with the department, but you're into all that psychology stuff. They call it 'transference', right?" He got a slow nod from the blonde. "And then – then the biggie."

"Pollack. You were there, you know as well as I do that she thought she did it," Lu defended herself.

"Yeah. And I also knew it was impossible."

"You didn't _want_ to believe it."

"And the evidence eventually proved that I was right, Dr. Macy, Lily, Bug, Nigel…everyone who really knew her… we were all right. She didn't do it." Woody's blue eyes burned now with the memories. "You know as well as I do, Lu, you ignored some of the critical evidence in the case and that if that evidence had been factored in, if the leads it provided had been followed earlier, then Jordan wouldn't have been on the run so long."

"And I didn't 'factor it in' or look for leads from it because she ran! Running tends to make a cop pretty well convinced the suspect is guilty."

"Or the suspect knows all too well how things work and doesn't trust that the investigation is going to be thorough or impartial," he countered.

Her body vibrated with anger. "Are you suggesting that I wasn't impartial or thorough because she was Jordan? Because of the – the weird history you two had? Because of – of everything else?"

"Were you?"

"Thorough and impartial? You bet you ass, Detective Hoyt!"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Pollack's car accident."

"What?" The color drained from her face, leaving her skin the color of chalk.

"Dr. Macy had to _prod_ you to investigate the previous injuries to Pollack. You found out he'd been in a car accident the week before. Do you honestly want to tell me that if it had been anyone else as our lead suspect that you'd have accepted that as the end of the matter? You're a trained investigator. The coincidence had to strike you. But it was easier to leave it there, wasn't it?" There was no reply, so he moved on. "Easier because if Jordan had murdered her lover, if she was put away for that, then maybe I'd stop thinking about her."

"Don't flatter yourself," she spat back. "Whatever we had is gone."

"I know," he replied softly. "A long time ago. But not quite yet, not then."

She took several deep breaths, her eyes closed. "Okay. That case was not my finest. I thought the 'Queen of Second Chances' might be willing to give one."

"That investigation almost cost Jordan her life. That's the sort of thing she doesn't forgive easily, which, really, who would? And that day? At the hotel? That was about her child's welfare, so multiply the usual by whatever factor fits Jordan." He stopped, his expression softening. "I didn't mean to cut you out, Lu. I wanted to keep that kid safe and maybe find her father."

After a moment, she nodded slowly. "I know. I guess I needed to clear the air a little. Don't do it again, Woody."

He smiled. "Scout's honor."

She arched a brow. "Were you a scout?"

"Sure I was." His blue eyes danced. "Got all the way up to that falcon rank."

She grinned. "Eagle."

"What?"

"It's Eagle Scout." He still looked puzzled. "The top rank – it's an eagle, not a falcon. Scout's honor." She rolled her eyes at him. "Just promise me as colleagues."

"I can do that."

She nodded, biting her lower lip briefly before adding, "And friends."

"I can do that, too." She turned to leave, then paused. "Go home, Woody. Take a break."

He gave her a theatrical sigh. "Just one more report or the Captain'll keep me in at recess."

With a snort, Simmons left.

XXXXX

Nearly seven months passed. Woody saw Jordan rarely, always in connection to a case. As much as he longed to sit her down and tell her how wrong he'd been all those years ago, he didn't. Lily had been right – despite the fact they'd been divorced, Jordan was still grieving for a man she'd loved enough to marry and have a child with. He knew the ground between would be too pockmarked with the old pain and hurts to be stable for either of them. Given their past – the way he'd left, how he'd hurt her too many times before that – he wanted to protect her – from himself in some ways. When she was ready….

"Woody!" Her voice chasing down the hallway toward his office.

He turned and smiled. Had he ever been able to keep himself from smiling at Jordan Cavanaugh? When he was sane, that is. "Hey, Doc. What brings you here?"

She caught up to him. "I thought I'd drop this off." She handed him a white envelope.

He gave her one of his speculative looks, shaking it with exaggerated caution and holding it up to the light before asking, "What is it?"

"Invite." Her broad smile and the flash of humor in her eyes dazzled him. "To Allie's birthday party. She'll be six."

"Ooooh," he groaned. "That's – That's really sweet of her and all, but… uh… I don't know, Jordan. A – A sea of six year olds? I'm not sure that's my… social circle."

She rolled her eyes at him. "To the family party. It's only the grown ups. Max. Garret. Lily and Bug. Nigel. Father Paul. People like that. She really wants you to be there."

"She only met me once!"

That garnered him a shrug. "She liked you. It's kind of how she is with adults – she either likes people right off or she doesn't and it rarely changes."

Jordan – and her descriptions of Allie – had broken him down. Grinning, he gave in, only to ask what on earth he should get a six year old as a gift.

"She already reads." Jordan gave Woody a sly smile. "Maybe some Nancy Drew books?"

"That is _just_ what the world needs – Jordan Cavanaugh's daughter thinking _she_ is also an amateur sleuth. Wouldn't that be carrying 'like mother, like daughter' a bit far?"

"Oh, come on, Woods. It could be fun." Her dark eyes were twinkling merrily.

XXXXX

The party was different than what Woody had expected, very low key, actually. Jordan made Allie's favorite dinner – lasagna with garlic bread and salad – and a chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream. They all sat down at the long table in Max's dining room, Allie seated at the head of the table, perched on phone books so she could survey her subjects. After dinner, presents were opened. Woody winked at Jordan when Allie squealed in delight at the Nancy Drew chapter books Woody had bought. They had their cake and soon goodnights were being said as Allie and her grandfather booth trooped upstairs – Max's present to her (one of many actually) was a day for just the two of them, starting with getting up before dawn to head out fishing. The police detective stayed behind to help Jordan with the clean up, even though she'd assured everyone they needn't stay.

For a while they worked in silence, the quiet around them comfortable and amicable. Jordan held open the big trash bag, while Woody gathered the detritus of cast-off wrapping paper, mutilated bows and paper plates, cups and plastic cutlery. They moved on the kitchen, where Jordan had piled the dinner dishes. She watched him set the trash out in the garage and then come back in. "Thanks. I really can get these."

"I know." He rolled up his sleeves. "But it'll go faster with two." His flashing grin and shining eyes convinced her.

As she rinsed plates and handed them to him to be put in the washer, she couldn't help but think of another night she'd done dishes with a man she loved. _Do I? Still?_ _Love Woody?_ Somehow the thought had snuck up on her. Deep down she'd known that was what Drew had meant before he died, but she'd told herself that the only thing she'd ever have again with Woody was this: friendship. She'd told herself that it would be enough, more than enough, given their history. But this…. It felt right. And yet confusing. She was shocked when she felt scalding tears well up in her eyes and overflow before she could tamp them down.

Woody looked over. "Jordan?"

She shook her head and tried to dry the tears that wouldn't stop.

"What is it?"

She swallowed several times but control still eluded her. Gently, Woody put an arm around her and guided her to one of the kitchen chairs.

"Come on, Jo. Tell me. Did I do something?"

She shook her head, and then nodded. "But – But… oh, God. No, Woody. It's – It's nothing."

"Jordan, all of a sudden you're in tears and it's 'nothing?' It's something. Tell me. Please."

She looked up at him now and saw the care and concern in his eyes. "It's just – It… Oh…." She looked over his shoulder, out the dark window, into nothing. "Drew and I… I don't know. Jobs. History. Personalities. We thought – We thought it'd be okay." She shrugged. "It wasn't working though. We were separated and – we – we kept – part of wanting to make it work…."

"You kept seeing each other."

She nodded. "This one night." She raised a hand to her eyes and dried them again with the flat of her palm. "I made dinner and he – I was doing the dishes. He came into the kitchen and told me it would be faster with two."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up some bad-"

"No! No. He – um- he …." She blushed. "He didn't really want to help with the dishes."

"Ah." Now Woody flushed.

"That – That was the night we conceived Allie." She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back at his face. "When you came back here – to Boston – I had – I thought I knew how it was going to be. I thought after so much time…."

"Me, too," he murmured.

Her honey eyes glowed, their color and depth magnified by the tear that still loomed. "I was all right with how it's been. And then – you said that. About two. And – uh – the first thing I thought was about that night – Allie – and how now another man I love had said that to me."

For a moment he didn't speak, her words soaking in slowly, as if his pores were hesitantly opening to them and absorbing them. "Jordan-"

"After all this time," she rushed on, her nerve quickly waning, "is it possible there's still anything there?"

For a moment, Woody didn't speak. When he did find his voice, it was a harsh whisper, forced out of a throat so tight Woody wondered if his own body might strangle him. "Everything. Everything's still there, Jo."

Her voice broke. "Why did you leave? Back then?"

He took her hands, began stroking her fingers with small intimate touches. "I'd hurt you too much. Every time I saw you, I saw all the things I'd done wrong. I didn't think there was any chance we'd ever get past it. And I wouldn't have blamed you. I wanted you to start over, move on with you life."

"Woody-"

"Shh," he crooned. "I was an idiot. I figured that out." He looked down at their hands where his fingers still rubbed idle, gentle, meaningless patterns into hers. "I ran. I ran from the things I didn't have the guts to fix. Because…," he sighed and looked at her again, his blue eyes boring into hers. "I finally figured out that was it. I was afraid to try to fix them, but they were always fixable, Jordan. _We_ were always fixable."

"You think so?"

He nodded. "We chased each other, Jordan. From coast to coast, crime scene to morgue, precinct to prisons. We met over corpses, sent each other crime reports like some people send love notes, had coffees between crime sprees, I think. It was all right out there, only we never said the words. The few times we tried… we didn't really know how. It should have been easy, Jo."

She sighed softly. "Except neither of us ever got that memo. Growing up, I mean."

He smiled ruefully. "I guess not." He squeezed her fingers lightly, loving the warmth and texture of her long, slender fingers in his. "I love you, Jordan. I should have said that years ago. I should have – I should have told you that no matter how I thought you'd react." He closed his eyes briefly. "But something you said – before Pollack was killed." He bit his lip. "I needed to grow up."

"We both did," she added.

He chuckled softly at her. "I realized… when you came back… you had. I didn't know – didn't know what to do. So, I left."

"Gee, I've never done that," she teased lightly.

"Nah, not you."

"Woody-"

"Jordan, let me finish." He made it into a plea. She nodded. "I've had a lot of time to think, to figure out who I am. Um… Cal. Cal died last year." Her smile vanished. He shook his head, forestalling her condolences. "Drugs. He never – never kicked the habits he had. But as I – as I buried my last family member, I realized – I realized I belonged here. I – uh – I had no idea you and Haley weren't together. But all I wanted was to be back here where I felt like I made a difference, where maybe you and I could be friends again." He hesitated, gathering himself. "I realized – I was finally okay with myself, okay with whatever was or wasn't going to be between us." He swallowed. "I love you. But – But I – I don't need to push anymore."

"Can I say something now?"

He grinned and nodded.

"I love you, too, Woody. I loved Drew and I'll always miss him. But I've never loved anyone the way I love you." She gave his fingers a squeeze this time.

For a moment they sat, the kitchen quiet and still around them. They studied each other, seeing the changes the years had wrought and the things that no amount of time would ever change. After a few long moments, Woody cleared his throat. "I should get going."

Her eyes warmed and she smiled slyly. "Or not."

"Jo…." His voice was almost a low growl.

"I'm not saying…." Her cheeks had turned pink, though with embarrassment or the beginnings of arousal, she couldn't really say.

"Really?" His eyebrows rose.

"Talk, Woody. Talk. There's a lot we don't know about each other anymore."

He shrugged after a moment's thought. "I think there's a lot we never knew." He leaned across and kissed her softly. "And I'd like to find out."

XXXXX

Jordan heard Max and Allie moving around downstairs. She groaned quietly, glad she wasn't expected to see them off in the pre-dawn darkness. She cracked open her eyes and peered at the man lying next to her and smiled to herself before cuddling up against him once more. In his sleep, his arm tightened around her. They really had spent the night talking in hushed tones, giggling, crying a time or two even. They'd finally fallen asleep spooned together about an hour ago. Closing her eyes once more, her smile broadening, she slipped back into a dreamless sleep with his warmth and scent surrounding her.

END


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